"Boy, you're one to nag, Miss I-Show-Up-When-I-Feel-Like-It. You're lucky it's just me here."
"Why are you here?"
Doug and I held the same position. On days when we overlapped, we usually worked different shifts, not identical ones. It was for the best. We usually distracted each other enough to accomplish the work of one person. Sometimes less.
He grabbed the back of the rolling desk chair and impressively flipped his body into it, the impact of which caused the chair to roll half-way across the office. "Paige called me in. She's sick."
Paige, our manager, was about six months pregnant. "Is she okay?"
"Dunno. If she gets better, she'll come in later."
He spun around the room a few times, then rolled up to the desk and beat out a fast rhythm on it with his hands. I presumed the cadence was from one of his band's songs.
"Jesus, you're wound up today. You get lucky last night?"
"I get lucky every night, Kincaid."
"Whatever. Your demon mask was more believable than that."
"Okay, maybe I'm not getting lucky every night right now, but that's going to change. The group's getting fucking amazing."
"I've always thought you guys were fucking amazing," I stated loyally.
Doug shook his head, dark eyes almost feverishly bright. "Oh no. You can't even believe it now. We got this new drummer, and suddenly…it's just like, I don't know…we're doing things we've never done before."
I frowned. "Because of one drummer?"
"No, I mean, it's all of us. He's just one of the good things that's happened. It's like…everything's just clicking into place. You ever have days like that? When everything is perfect? Well, we're having weeks like that. Songs. Gigs. Style." His enthusiasm was palpable, and it made me smile. "We're even playing the Verona."
"Seriously?"
"Yup."
"That's a major venue. I mean, it's not like the Tacoma Dome or anything, but then, they wouldn't let you play there anyway if you didn't have a monster truck worked into the act."
He spun the chair around again. "You should come see it. A bunch of the other staff is. It'll be the greatest night of your life."
"I don't know. I've had a lot of great nights."
"Second best then. Unless you're thinking of joining my groupies. I'd let you be their leader, you know. You could always have first dibs on me."
I rolled my eyes, then turned pensive as the sex jokes reminded me of my recent Seth issues.
"Hey Doug, do you think men and women can date without having sex?"
He had been tipping way back in the chair and suddenly snapped forward. "Oh my God. You are thinking of joining the groupies."
"I'm serious. Two people dating without sex. Fact or fantasy?"
"Okay, okay. For how long? A week?"
"No. Like, months."
"Are they Amish?"
"No."
"Are they ugly?"
"Er, no."
"No."
"No what?"
"No, they can't do it. Not in this day and age. Why do you want to know?"
"No reason."
He cut me an arch look. "Of course not." He didn't know about Seth and me, but he did know me.
Our phone's intercom came to life just then, asking for backup on the registers.
"Paper rock scissors?" Doug asked, spinning the chair around again.
"Nah, I'll go. I should make up for my tardiness. Besides, I think you need to come down from your caffeine high. Or your megalomania high. Not sure which."
He flashed me a grin and turned to the paused game of Tetris on our shared computer.
Truthfully, I didn't mind going out anyway. I worked for the fun of it, not the money. Immortality was long, and vocation and daily work sort of regulated human existence, even if I wasn't technically human anymore. It just felt right to be doing something, and unlike so many other unfortunate souls in this world, I actually liked what I did for a living.
I checked in on Seth a few times as I worked throughout the day, drank a lot of white-chocolate mochas, and dealt with what was becoming a heavy flow of business as the holiday season grew ever closer. At one point, I finally did have to pull Doug out with me. I found him in our office, still playingTetris.
I opened my mouth to make a joke about his work ethic and then caught sight of the computer screen. He played Tetris on a regular basis, so I was familiar with the game and his prowess, but what I saw now blew my mind. His score was the highest I'd ever seen, and he was at such an advanced level now that the pieces zoomed down the screen. I couldn't follow them. Yet, he caught and placed them all, never missing a beat.
"My God," I muttered. There was no way his hands and reflexes could be responding like that. The computer would probably implode at any moment. "I guess everything really is clicking into place for you lately. "
He laughed, either at my pun or my astonishment. "Need me out there?"
"Yeah…though it seems so wasteful now compared to this…mastery. Like interrupting Michelangelo."
Doug shrugged obligingly, shut down the game, and followed me out. I think the computer was relieved. He and I worked together cheerfully for the rest of my shift. His good mood over the band's success kept him chipper and lively, making the day fly by. When it was time for me to go, I offered to close for him since he'd had to come in unexpectedly early. He waved me off.
"Forget about it. Go do something fun tonight."
As I was leaving the store, I passed a rack of magazines and saw a copy of the latest issue of American Mystery. In big letters, one of the headlines read: Cady and O'Neill Return! Seth Mortensen gives us an exclusive novella.
Eek. What a bad girlfriend I was. Seth had told me about this story's upcoming appearance, and I'd completely forgotten about it. It had just come out yesterday. Apparently being with him regularly was distracting me from his art. Before the publication of his last novel, I'd literally marked off days on my calendar until its release. Longing washed over me, but I knew I couldn't read this story tonight. Bastien had left me a cell phone message saying he'd stop by my place later, and I had a feeling he'd distract me for most of the evening.
Tomorrow, I promised myself. I'd read the story tomorrow.
I'd just settled in back home when Bastien showed up bearing Thai food.
"How was the literary world today?" he asked as we had a picnic on my living room floor. Aubrey watched sharply from a discreet distance, her eyes fixed covetously on a container of green curry. Pad Thai did nothing for her.
"Weird," I reflected, recalling sleeping in late, Doug's behavior, and the frenetic pace of early holiday shopping. "Yours?"
It was clear from his expression he'd been dying to tell me this from the moment he'd cleared my door.
"Fantastic. I moved into the house today. You should see the neighborhood. It's the American Dream and then some. Big appliances. Manicured lawns. Three-car garages."
"Three cars? Do you even have a car?"
"Sure do. Company car."
"Hmphf. No one ever gave me a company car."
"That's because you aren't on the verge of the Seduction of the Century. I even met her already."
"Dana?"
"First day, and she comes to me! Can you believe it? It's like I don't even have to do anything. This operation just runs itself. I am its tool. Its plaything even—or rather, Dana's plaything."
"I don't know about that," I noted dryly, "unless you're going to add that she jumped on you and ripped your clothes off today too."
"Well, no. She actually just came by to welcome me to the neighborhood. But, she did also invite me to a party she's hosting. 'A Barbecue in November.' Charming, huh?"
"Adorable. Nothing I love better than eating hot dogs in the cold."
He elbowed me. "It's a theme, Fleur . It's fun. And it's all indoors. You know, you're turning into a regular cynic lately."
"Not cynical. Just still skeptical of this whole thing. It seems overly e
laborate for what it is. A lot of work for one lay."
"One lay?" He tsked me and shook his head. "Let me see your laptop."
I retrieved it from my bedroom and returned to find Aubrey licking the edges of my plate. I shooed her away and handed Bastien the computer. A few quick clicks, and he soon had the Committee for the Preservation of Family Values' website open. Dana's organization. Most of her radio broadcasts were archived and available for download. He picked one, and we finished the rest of our meal to the sound of her rich, melodic voice.
The first broadcast concerned homosexuality. The CPFV maintained an appearance of sugarcoated goodness, a desire to help people and improve American life. Consequently, because being openly racist or sexist was not good for one's image anymore, the organization only espoused views slanted in those directions in subtle ways. Blatantly condemning homosexuality, however, was not entirely taboo yet—unfortunately— and the bulk of this broadcast involved Dana oozing on about the importance of "helping" those people to understand the true way both nature and God intended love to be. Toleration of such misguided lifestyles, she claimed, would lead to a breakdown in our families. The children. For God's sake, think of the children.
Her next broadcast damned the abominable state of today's clothing. School uniforms and fashion censoring were the only ways to go. How could we expect young girls to grow up with any self-respect when they walked around dressed like sluts? It led to sexual acts they weren't ready for, not to mention instilling in them the idea that their value came from appearance, not character.
I thought of the lacy purple thong I wore under my jeans just then. What was wrong with character and sex appeal?
The third one we listened to concerned the futility of teaching teenagers about safe sex and contraception. Abstinence training was the way to go. Keep them in pure ignorance. End of story.
"Enough," I said at that point. Her shallow, prejudiced values cloaked in so-called love and kindness unsettled the food in my stomach.
Bastien grinned. "Still think it's just one lay?"
I stretched back on my carpet, resting my feet on his lap. He massaged them for me. "I hate hypocrites, good or evil. Doesn't matter what they're touting."
"You should hear some of her background, some of the past issues she's advocated for with her group. Lovely stuff there—I researched her all day. I can pull it up for you. "
I held up a hand. "No, please. I believe you. The bitch must fall, okay? If I had a sword, I'd tap your shoulders and send you off with my blessings."
He lay down beside me. "Well, why don't you take a front-row seat then? Come to the party with me. I'm sure no one would mind if Mitch brought his sister."
"Party on the Eastside? My blessing only goes so far."
"Oh, come on. Admit it. You have a perverse desire to meet her in the flesh. Besides, it's been a while since you've seen me in action. You might pick up on a few things. Get some pointers."
Laughing, I rolled over on my side to better study him. "Like I need pointers from you."
He rolled to his side as well, smirking. "Yeah? Then prove it. Let's go out tonight. Let's go hunting."
My smile diminished. "What?"
"Just like the old days. We'll find some club, work up a sweat, then tag respective fixes for the night."
Bittersweet memories flashed into my brain, recalling the French cabarets of the nineteenth century. Bastien and I would go out in fine form, separate, and meet back in the morning to laugh and brag about our conquests. The game no longer held much appeal.
"I don't do that anymore. I told you that."
"Yeah, but you've still got to survive."
"I am surviving. I got a fix just a couple days ago. I'm set for a while. "
Bastien scowled. "A few days ago? Bleh. This writer guy's making you boring. "
"Hey, it has nothing to do with him. It's my choice."
"Sure."
"What's with the tone?"
"Not sure. I mean, I thought the whole writer-dating thing was amusing at first—even if he seems kind of dull and will probably only end up causing you pain. But now I'm starting to think it's indicative of a larger issue with you. I mean, there's the whole nice guy hang-up to begin with. Then you're, what? An assistant manager at a bookstore? Not to mention the fact that you have a cat."
Aubrey glared, and so did I. "There's nothing wrong with having a cat. And Seth isn't dull."
"I suppose you'd know better. He just didn't really strike me as much, that's all. If you wanted to obsess about a mortal, I could find you a better one."
"I don't want a better one. I mean, there is no better one. I want him."
"Suit yourself. You're just becoming ordinary, that's all. You used to be extraordinary."
"Ouch. All this because I won't go out with you tonight?"
Bastien shrugged.
"Okay then. We'll go. But no victim for me."
"Fair enough."
We went down to a club in Pioneer Square, both of us groomed to the kind of sexy, beautiful perfection that only an incubus and a succubus could achieve. I had pulled my hair up in messy, sex-kitten glory and wore a baby blue tank top with a V-neck that almost went to my belly button. The opening was covered in very sheer lace and made wearing a bra utterly pointless. So I didn't.
The tension between us evaporated as we hit the dance floor. The rhythm pulsed through me, the movement and sweat intoxicating. Bastien and I danced together for a while, both of us aware of the admirers we drew, even in a packed room like this. Physical attraction was about so much more than just superficial appearance. It was about eye contact, outgoingness, and movement too. Incubi and succubi learn this early on, and the good ones move with a grace few mortals can match. I, who had danced well before becoming a succubus, knew I was among the best when it came to body language. Watching us was irresistible. A turn-on in itself.
After a while, we split up. The results of the succubus game distressed me sometimes, but the game itself was fun. Very fun. I moved from partner to partner, thriving on the effect I created, on the desire I could see mounting in those whose bodies mine toyed with. It was why, despite my frequent bitching, I had given up my mortal soul for this vocation.
I confess, that the thought of going home with someone grew tantalizing, my body warming to the idea of someone's hands upon me, but then I thought about Seth and his determined adherence to the arrangement we'd entered into. No. No superfluous victims for me tonight. I could be good. I wanted to be good. I'd wait until I actually needed a recharge.
From across the room, Bastien inclined his head to me when he left the club, his arm around a small, entranced blonde. When he turned, I noticed a brunette in his other arm.
Overachiever.
It was two in the morning when I finally made it home. I woke aching and tired the next day, the weather making me feel worse. Rain formed a steady gray curtain as I walked to work. Everything seemed colder. I had been raised in a warm Mediterranean climate; I could never quite accept these kinds of temperatures.
When I showed up at the bookstore, it had once again opened without me. Oddly, though, despite exactly the same staff working today, I didn't get the same boisterous greetings as yesterday.
Casey and Janice, on the registers, paused in their work to watch me walk in, their expressions enigmatic. Janice leaned over, murmuring something in the other woman's ear. When they noticed my curious look, they both forced smiles. "Hey, Georgina."
"Hey," I responded, puzzled and slightly uncomfortable.
Passing by the information desk a moment later, I found Beth regarding me with an equally peculiar look.
"How's it going?" I asked when she didn't say anything.
"Fine." She hastily turned to the computer screen in front of her.
Now, I'd been subjected to my share of strange looks upon coming into work before, but this was weird even for me.
Sometimes, after being with a lover, their absorbed life energy gave me a gla
mour that unconsciously attracted mortals. It was the same glow that Hugh had teased me about during poker. That was not to blame now, however. My last fix, as I'd told Bastien, had occurred a few days ago. The glow would have weakened by now. Besides, I know entranced looks when I saw them. These were not it. These were curious, what-is-she-doing looks. The kind of looks you get when you have food on your face or a missing button. The likelihood of either of those seemed low, but I ducked into the restroom anyway, just to check.
Nope. Flawless. A long denim skirt and a navy, off-the-shoulder sweater. Both smooth and perfect. Makeup in place. Unbound hair hanging to the bottom of my shoulder blades. A typical look for me. Nothing to warrant this attention.
Assuming I was reading too much into things, I continued on to thecafe,getting a friendly nod from Seth as he worked in his corner. At least he was behaving normally.
A new barista bustled at the espresso bar, and she nearly dropped the cups she held upon seeing me.
"H-hi," she stammered out, wide-eyed, looking me over from head-to-toe.
"Hi," I returned. This woman didn't even know me. Why was she acting weirdly too? "Medium white-chocolate mocha."
It took her a moment to churn into action, writing my order on a cup. As she rang it up at the register, she asked curiously, "You're Georgina, right?"
"Um, yeah. Why?"
"Just heard of you, that's all." She looked back down.
She said no more to me after that, simply making and handing me the mocha. Taking it, I walked over to Seth and sat across from him. The barista continued watching us with interest, though she immediately turned away upon catching my eye.
"Hey," Seth greeted me, eyes and fingers busy.
"Hey," I returned. "Everyone's acting really weird today."
He glanced up. "Are they?" I immediately recognized the thrall he fell into when his writing seized him. He became even more distracted and scattered than usual under such conditions. A succubus should be so lucky to have that kind of effect on a man.
"Yeah. Have you noticed anything? I feel like people are staring at me."
He shook his head, stifling a yawn before returning to typing. "Things seem the same to me. I like your sweater. Maybe it's that."
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